


qualities of real perception

by a_simple_space_nerd



Series: so it hurts to say it's hopeless [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (OR IS SHE), Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Clarke Griffin & Raven Reyes Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Haunting, Murphy-centric, Post-Season/Series 04, Raven Reyes-centric, Supernatural Elements, basically raven starts seeing Clarke's ghost on the ring, even though Clarke is dead, kind of, kind of?, let characters be friends!, let characters be kind!, no editing we die like men, spacekru, wow anyways this is the worst thing I've ever written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 03:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15621780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_simple_space_nerd/pseuds/a_simple_space_nerd
Summary: Raven takes in the sight of bright hair and immediately her breath catches in her throat because no one up here has hair like that, no one has hair like that anywhere, not anymore.“Clarke?” Raven whispers the word, not processing anything that’s happening, but the figure vanishes around the corner before she sees their face, blond braid disappearing around the corner even as Raven rushes forward on unsteady steps, disregarding her brace. She nearly trips as she frantically spins around the corner, desperate and heart pounding, and—there’s nothing there.





	qualities of real perception

**Author's Note:**

> so firstly: i havent watched any of the 100 after season 3. yikes @myself. 
> 
> secondly,, ive been ride or die for raven&clarke since day 1 and murphy&clarke since day 2 and raven&murphy since day 3, so if that's what ur into this is the story for u!! also theres a ghost?
> 
> thirdly: this is v messy and makes v little sense. im sorry,, i hope u all enjoy my scrambled thoughts anyway
> 
> (title from 'hallucinating' by elohim bc im hilarious)
> 
> OH AND PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF U WANT A PART 2

Raven first sees her three weeks after docking into the ark. She’s standing in front of the largest window that the ark contains, staring down at the molten gold-and-ruby earth below her. Her thoughts aren’t clear or defined, just swirling aimlessly and sinking heavily into her chest. She’s not given herself much time to think about anything other than their immediate survival, though she never really has, and this is the first time when she allows herself to fall helplessly into the abyss that winds itself between her ribs and around her lungs. It’s difficult to pinpoint the exact cause for why this is happening now and what exactly  _it_ is.

Though Raven knows there are dozens of reasons for the void threating to swallow her up, reasons stretching back even before she ever touched the ground and reasons attributed to almost every one of the individuals she has to live with for the next half decade. Usually, she doesn’t think about Finn. Usually, she’s moved on. The same goes for Wick, and Sinclair, and Gina, and Jasper, and the list of names keeps going the longer she lets herself dwell on it, so she tries not to. Clarke is on that list now, too.

It hasn’t even been a bad day, not by her standards, not by any of their standards. It’s a moment of calm, a moment to herself, and she could take the time to do anything but instead she’s standing in front of the largest window on the ark and staring at the earth through weary eyes.  

Eventually, something pulls her away from the window. Shoving her hands down by her sides and resisting the urge to grip her thigh as she does so, she turns from the window. She’s not expecting to see anything other than the cool grey surroundings she’s slowly becoming reaccustomed to, but there’s a flash of colour that stands out. It’s a figure, standing in front of her, on the other side of the room. The figure’s clothes are dusted with grit and gravel, hood pulled over their head, and Raven narrows her eyes to keep them from widening in surprise. “Emori?” She can’t think of anyone else with clothes like that, even though logically Raven knows that Emori’s been dressing the same as the rest of them for the last three weeks.

The figure reaches up to push back the hood, movements determined and stiff, and then turns to the side. Rave takes in the shock of bright hair and immediately her breath catches in her throat because no one up here has hair like that, no one has hair like that  _anywhere_ , not anymore.

“Clarke?” Raven whispers the word, not processing anything that’s happening, but the figure vanishes around the corner before she sees their face, their blond braid disappearing around the corner even as Raven rushes forward on unsteady steps, disregarding her brace. She nearly trips as the frantically spins around the corner, desperate and heart pounding, and—there’s nothing there.

* * *

It’s not the last time that it happens, either. Raven tries to persuade herself that she was hallucinating, delusional and tired. Clarke was on her mind so in a way it isn’t entirely unexpected. The explanation works until she sees Clarke’s braid disappearing behind corners twice in one week.

Then she sits in the room she shares with Bellamy, back to the wall and heels of her hands pressed into her eyes.  _Get it together, Reyes. Get it_ together. It’s just grief, she tells herself, survivor’s guilt, killer’s guilt. Remorse, regret, any or all of the things which drape on Raven like blankets. “It’s just your head,” she whispers to herself, trying to speak the words into truth and trying to ignore the way that Clarke darts past the door.

Another week passes, and she starts to see more; shadowed eyes under the hood, hands pulling at the braid. Slowly, like a puzzle, she sees more of the blonde figure until she sees the whole person all at once.

She pulls herself out from the mechanics of the Ring, tugging on a wire and frowning distractedly. She pulls herself up and cracks her neck, and then looks up to see Clarke in front of her. Raven’s jaw drops. It’s Clarke, she can see it for sure now. Her face is shadowed by her hand, as though she’s blocking out a light, but Raven can tell it’s her anyway. Of course she can tell.  _Of course_ she can tell.

“Clarke,” she breathes out. She shifts forward just a millimetre, and Raven can see despite the darkness the way that Clarke’s mouth tightens as she takes a step back, then another, and then pivots and heads out of the door and around the corner.

Raven doesn’t follow her. She stares for a minute, waiting for something she knows won’t happen; she knows by now that Clarke won’t walk back through the door. Instead Raven pulls herself up completely and then collapses into a chair, back hunched and head sunken into her hands.

* * *

“What are you?” Raven hisses, the next time she sees Clarke. She’s angrier, now. Angry at this—whatever this is, using Clarke’s body as though it’s a puppet. “Get out of her.” Emori walks by the door to the lab, where Raven stands alone, and sends Raven a weird look when she glances inside. Raven smiles tightly, praying she doesn’t look as frazzled as she feels. Once Emori has passed, Raven returns her attention to where the Clarke-figure is squinting into the distance, clothes blowing with non-existent wind. Raven glowers.

“Whatever you are,” she whispers lowly, furiously, “ALIE, or some shit, get out of my brain and get  _out_ of Clarke.” Clarke turns around, at that, but she doesn’t respond or acknowledge a thing, just reaches up to pull up her hood and weaves around Raven to slip out the door.

Raven wants to scream but knows she can’t afford to let any of the others know about this—these hallucinations. Clarke’s lips are chapped, though, whenever Raven sees her. Her cheeks are red and peeling. Her clothes are frayed. This isn’t the Clarke that Raven left behind.

* * *

She has a nightmare, that night. Not the first, but the first one like this.

“It’s beautiful.” Raven blinks, looks beside her in surprise. She hadn’t heard anyone arrive.

Clarke’s bright blue eyes look back at her, and  _oh_. That’s what her face should look like, that’s how her eyes are supposed to shine. That’s the way she dressed, that’s the way she stood. Jesus, Raven had almost forgotten.

Clarke’s smile is soft, kind, and she looks away from Raven and through the window they stand in front of, gazing down at the spinning earth below. “I’m down there,” she says conversationally, pointing, Raven still staring.

“I know,” Raven manages, drinking in the sight of Clarke’s clean face, her wavy hair. “Bellamy—Bellamy said your ashes could be in every continent by now. He thought you’d like that.”

Clarke hums, turns her back on the window and leans against it, reaching out to grab Raven’s hand with both of hers, fingers callused but not rough against Raven’s skin. “Raven,” she says, half a sigh and half a song, “Raven, Raven. Burning yourself up so others can see some light.” One of her hands comes up to trace Raven’s face, tugging on a loose strand of hair, and Raven’s eyes fill with hot tears as she pulls Clarke into a hug.

Clarke’s hands fall lightly on her back and as even with Raven squeezing her as tightly as she can, Clarke still feels distant and ghostly and  _not here_.

“I miss you,” Raven whispers into Clarke’s neck.

Clarke pulls back and trails her fingers down from Raven’s shoulders to her elbows. “Don’t be silly, Raven,” she chides, voice even. “You never even liked me.”

Raven jerks upright in her bed with her surprise still singing in her veins, panting into the silence of her empty room. Across from her, Bellamy tosses in his own dreams.  “This is all  _wrong_ ,” she whispers into the silence, wishing she could stop waiting for a response.

* * *

“Raven, I’m not a medic,” Monty tells her for what feels like the seventh time.

“I  _know_ ,” Raven stresses. “But we don’t  _have_ a medic.”

Monty flinches violently, his expression raw and vulnerable, but Raven feels completely immune, desensitized and untouchable to the grief that still clings to the others for days at a time. Over Monty’s shoulder, Clarke drifts across the room. Surely whatever is making Raven lose her mind must be obvious, somehow visible. A disease, or a half-healed wound, or ALIE’s tattoo. Something, some kind of explanation, that’s all Raven needs.

Raven steels her resolve. “I just want to be sure,” she says. “Positive that ALIE is out of my head entirely.”

“Didn’t…” Monty pauses, still shrunken into himself, his body still angled somewhat away from Raven. “Abby, or Jackson or some other doctor, run tests already? Confirm it?”

“Clarke did too,” Raven says flatly, “yeah. But I’ve been having these headaches. I can’t find any trace of ALIE on the ring’s coding, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful.”

Monty worries his lip. “Okay, well… this is new territory for me, okay?”

Raven shrugs, just relieved that he’s finally agreeing to look her over. (She shouldn’t have been. Monty doesn’t find anything but the bags under her eyes and the tension mounting in her shoulders.)

* * *

She gives up. Not immediately after that, but soon enough. The Raven from before would never have given up, maybe put it on pause but never given up. The Raven from before, though, would have known how to fix this, she’s sure of it. This Raven just sits at the table in the lab and watches through half-lidded eyes, head propped up on her elbows, as Clarke walks around and behind corners.

Raven gets used to it, though she doesn’t like to think about that. She used to be proud of her adaptability, but now it feels like a burden. Still, Raven adapts. She even talks to Clarke, sometimes. Quietly, so that no one can hear. Words so soft they fall on the air as if they were feathers, so gently that she can barely hear herself. The ring isn’t big enough for anyone to talk without being at least faintly heard by someone.

When Bellamy refuses to talk about what he’s thinking, Clarke is who Raven tells about it. When Echo offers her help in places she isn’t wanted, Clarke is the one who Raven complains to. When Emori begins working alongside Raven in the lab, Raven only tells Clarke how disconcerting it is to have another tangible human alongside her, how frustrating it is to have to play teacher, but the way it feels like a comfort at the same time.

In hindsight, it kind of helps.  _Talking_ helps,  _Clarke_ helps. In hindsight, she isn’t sure why she’s all that surprised. Her shoulders aren’t as tense, her words aren’t as brittle. She doesn’t feel quite so alone. (Clarke doesn’t talk back, but Raven can pretend that she hears.)

Raven adapts. It’s what she does. She learns to stop flinching at the sight of blonde hair, though it’s hard to stop following the figure with her eyes. She learns to stop following the figure abound, because while it appears that Clarke can’t walk through walls, Raven will turn corners or exit a doorway and Clarke will just be gone. She learns how to get used to the presence beside her, and in a way, she feels Closer to Clarke than she did for months before the ring. 

After a while, the hardest part is actually keeping it secret from the others.

* * *

She hates that the others can’t see Clarke like she can. On her more selfish days, she can be grateful that she has Clarke all to herself, that she can confide in someone without wondering who they’ll repeat her words to. But most of the time, it sucks. It  _sucks ass_.

It sucks to see the way that Monty looks at his hands, brow furrowed, and she knows how he’s thinking over the fact that of that little crew from the dropship days, he’s the only one left who was there from the start.

It sucks to see the way that Murphy hangs back from the group—not without reason, and there are mountains of issues within the group on the ring, — but Raven remembers the way he would relax when Clarke was nearby, the way he subconsciously leaned in on conversations. She hates the fact that he felt safer with her around, and now that she’s gone he still watches them all—Bellamy most of all—with wariness. Emori, following his lead, clings closer to him. Raven wants to tell them that they’re safe, up here, that there’s no reason for them to fear anything from the only other five people they’re in contact with, but she knows that’d be unfair. Raven, Murphy, Bellamy—they didn’t grow up on the ark the way that Clarke did. They remember the dangers of space. Space never saved lives, not in their pasts.

It sucks to see Echo and Harper unsure and uneasy, trying to figure out where they both stand when there isn’t anyone to tell them where to go. It’s subtler for those two, but Clarke’s absence is still notable if Raven looks for it.

Most of all it sucks to see Bellamy. He’s hurting, so much, but he won’t let Raven help him and he won’t even admit that maybe he needs help, that he isn’t okay. Sometimes when she stumbles into the room they share, she walks in on him slumped over in his bed, hands in his lap or head in his hands. He pulls himself together, every time. He’ll greet her so casually that if Raven hadn’t seen him on the brink of collapse, she might not be able to detect the wavering voice and the gaping hollowness in his eyes. And sometimes, when one of the others asks him a question or turns to him for leadership, he hesitates. He isn’t as assertive as he once was. Raven wishes desperately, on his worst days, that she could look him in the eyes and say: “She’s not gone. Not entirely. Part of her remains and is here and real.” She wishes that she could point him to the corner of the room where Clarke lurks, that she could somehow make him  _see_.

But she can’t tell him anything, can’t show him anything. Bellamy can’t see Clarke.  _None_ of them can see Clarke.

Clarke simply weaves around their bodies, without ever touching them, though more and more she’s starting to notice them. Sometimes Raven will walk into a room and she can see Clarke standing still in front of Monty, eyes watering. Or Bellamy, standing by the window, and Raven can see Clarke leaning her back on the wall beside him, knees pulled to her chest and chin resting on her folded arms.

Raven wants to scream every time it happens.  _She’s right there,_ she wants to yell,  _she’s right there and she’s present right now._ Instead she does her best to stay true to herself, pull herself out of the moods she sometimes slips into, and tries valiantly to drag everyone else out of theirs.

* * *

It changes, over time, because everything does. Raven notes every change carefully in her mind and tries not to wonder about their implications, trying not to acknowedge the way she stops thinking of Clarke as a hallucination. Clarke starts standing still or sitting down. She isn’t always darting around corners of caught only in half-seconds before disappearing. Clarke notices the others more and more too, though it’s usually just one at a time, and rarely when they’re in a group. She notices Raven more.

She notices Raven a lot more, and in return Raven starts to notice a lot more about Clarke. Before, the Clarke hallucination never seemed to truly see anyone, and if she did she just… stared, or looked away. Then she would look at them, sometimes tighten or open her mouth, but never react. Mostly she’d look sad. Now, Raven will look up in the lab to find Clarke looking back. She’ll smile, and Clarke’s eyes will go wide with surprise before she smiles back, shyly and tentatively. Sometimes, Clarke will even wave.

They’re little steps and inconsequential to her real and tangible life, these reactions, and Raven wonders when she became this invested into the actions of her hallucinations, but it feels kind of like a big deal, like progress. (She tries not to dwell on the way that she feels comforted by Clarke’s presence, the way she feels like they’re friends, in a way. Clarke is dead. These are hallucinations. Things cannot be changed from the way they were finished.)

* * *

“Hey,” Raven says, one day when she’s alone in the lab. Her voice is louder than her usual whisper, for once. Clarke looks up from where she’s leaning against the wall, cracking one eye open. “Hey, Clarke, you know we were friends, right?” It’s kind of unfair to do this when Clarke isn’t all that available to protest the claim, but Raven is tired of letting guilt strangle her and keep the words from being spoken. The nightmare still weighs on her mind.  

“I trusted you,” Raven continues, eyes softening as she speaks. “I liked you. You need to know I loved you, Clarke.” Clarke’s eyes go shiny, visible even across the distance between them. She reaches one hand up to scrub at her cheek, and Raven watches her silently, softly. She’s okay with the silence for now. As long as Clarke knows and heard what Raven needed to say, real or not, Raven can put her mind to rest.  

* * *

Ten months have come and gone, and things have been changing slowly for a while.

Emori and John are still together but they don’t cling together so tightly anymore. Emori spends most of her days with Raven in the lab, more adjusted than anyone else on the ring, friendly with everyone except Echo. With Echo Emori is distant and cautious, which Raven knows is due to the stigma surrounding her mutated hand. Emori, who Raven grudgingly has to admit to herself is now one of her closest friends, has only recently started warming up to Echo after the two had some kind of confrontation about the issue. With the others she’s friendly and warm after the initial suspicion wore off, and she gets along with Harper far better than Raven expected them to. The only one she still seems unsure about is Bellamy, likely due to Murphy’s history with him.

Murphy isn’t nearly as casual with the others as his girlfriend is, though he’d never admit it. Murphy is all bluff, though, and by now Raven can see through him with ease. He’s most relaxed around her and Emori, trading barbs with Raven until Emori drags him into helping or Raven throws a wrench at his head. He’s wary with the others, though, in a way that Raven doesn’t know how to feel about. He and Monty have this weird friendship where Murphy teases Monty and makes insensitive jokes until Monty (or Harper on his behalf) snaps back and says something equally insensitive. Logically Raven understands that Murphy isn’t sure how to treat Monty, who’s so much more sharp and jagged than the kid he used to be, but it’s frustrating to see them dance around each other. It’s a relief to see the way that over time their jokes become fonder, and less aimed to wound. Bellamy, however, is another matter altogether. Murphy evidently has entirely no idea how to interact with his former leader-turned-attempted-murderer-turned-ally. Raven isn’t sure that he even wants to.

Harper and Monty go through rough patches, though there aren’t many, but every time they have an argument the entire ring is on edge. Harper seems to come into herself as the months pass, more confident than she was back at the Dropship. “I spent so long changing all the time,” Harper confessed to Raven five months after take-off, “where I’d be a different person every time my circumstances changed. I’m finally figuring out what it means to be me.” And she is, sparring with Echo and going through medical records with Murphy. She helps Monty with the farm, too, but doesn’t have the precision that the job requires, so instead sits on the side and offers encouragement to Echo who follows Monty’s directions. Monty isn’t able to do a lot of work, with his shaking and burnt hands. it takes months for their trembles to at least somewhat subside. Harper sits with Bellamy and nudges his side when he sinks somewhere they can’t reach him, and giggles with Raven over shots of moonshine. Raven is proud of her. She thinks Clarke would be too.

Monty is moodier than he used to be, which can make him difficult and unreasonable at times. Raven doesn’t have time for his bullshit, but Bellamy and Harper somehow do. They remember the old Monty a lot more clearly than Raven does. But Raven can’t do that, be his emotional support, so she just smacks his head sometimes and tells him to pull his head out of his ass. It kind of helps, so she lets Harper and Bellamy do the rest. Harper says he struggles with nightmares, more so than the rest of them, but Raven has faith that he’ll pull through. Monty is a lot closer with Bellamy than he used to be, and he’s (mostly?) friends with Murphy, and aside from Harper he’s one of the first to willingly include Echo, which Raven thinks are all good signs. His hands bother him, but Harper says that he’s trying to get past it. Raven knows he will, but it’ll take time.

Echo, after all the suspicion and anger eases, is  _funny_. She’s solemn and intense, but sometimes she says things so dryly that it takes Raven a minute to realise the humour. Bellamy still doesn’t trust her, and Echo watches him with mixed emotions, but Monty and Harper are trying hard to start over. Murphy and Emori are working through things at their own pace. And Raven—Raven is just getting by, seeing what happens. She doesn’t want to hate Echo, they’ve all done despicable things, but she doesn’t  _know_ her.

And Bellamy is Bellamy. (He’s doing better, but he’ll never admit to not being okay in the first place. Not when his two pillars of strength are an apparition and buried underground respectively.)

And Raven still sees Clarke. (it's both harder and easier to move on when there's a ghost shadowing her movements. It's both a relief and an injustice.)

* * *

Fourteen months in, and Murphy stumbles into the lab pale-faced and sprawling. “John?” Emori’s still the only one who calls him that.

“Uh,” says Murphy, wide-eyed.

“Is something wrong?” Raven’s voice is casual and is interested but she’s frowning, and even glances up from the temperature regulator.

“Um,” Murphy manages, “Oh, uh—”

“John?” Emori sounds expectant, one eyebrow raised. She pushes off of the bench, but Murphy holds out a hand frantically. Emori stops dead at this, and Raven looks up properly.

Realising how he looks, Murphy yanks his hand back. “No, no. Everything is—fine.”

“Right,” Emori says slowly, dragging out the word.

Murphy nods frantically. “You sure?” More nodding, and he runs a hand through his hair, which is long enough that Harper has been harassing him about it.

“Sorry,” he says. “I thought—” Raven narrows her eyes, frown growing. “Nevermind.” he shakes himself. “Anyways, uh, what’re you two up to?” Emori clearly wants to push him for more details but is familiar enough with her boyfriend’s habits to know when he will or won’t talk, and trusts that he’ll come to her when he’s ready.

Watching the way Murphy’s eyes dart around the room, his shoulders so stiff they’re halfway to his ears, Raven isn’t so sure.

Her concern is proved well-founded when, two days later, Raven’s stepping out the doorway to the farm and Murphy runs into her at full tilt. 

“Woah,” she says, but Murphy’s already reaching out to steady her. Normally she’d snap at him for it and the collision, but when she gets a good look at him she pauses. His eyes are wild, white with panic. Raven hesitates.

“Hey there Murphy,” she says slowly. “You alright there?”

“Uh, yeah,” Murphy says, craning his neck to see past her. Raven turns and sees nothing but the empty hallway. “Sorry.” Another sign that something is wrong: Murphy rarely apologies. He’s getting better with healthy expression of emotion, they all are, but they’re not quite there yet.

Before she can question him further, he darts past her with a shake of his head, leaving her alone with the empty hallway and her mounting suspicion.

This continues for another week. The tension in Murphy’s shoulders only grow, and Emori’s concern only mounts, and Raven watches him with the sense that things have once again changed.

* * *

They’re at dinner, and it’s algae like always. Raven is watching Murphy, because  _what if she’s right?_ The others can clearly see something is going on, because Emori’s eyes keep shifting back to her boyfriend, and Raven never fixates on one person for so long unashamedly. Monty and Harper keep looking at each other in confusion, and Bellamy is trying to catch her eye. Murphy’s eyes lock onto the corner of the room in the middle of raising his spoon to his mouth, and Raven leans back in her chair. When he pushes violently away from the table, Raven’s ready, and she jumps up to follow him when he darts out of the room.

“Raven,” Bellamy protests, and she throws a look over her shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” she calls, blood pumping through her veins, heartbeat pounding, “I’ve got this.”

She finds him in front of one of the windows that look down on the broiling Earth’s surface. He’s standing with both hands gripping his hair, elbows up.

“Hey,” Raven says bluntly, and Murphy jumps. He turns to face her, eyes still wild, and Raven tilts her head to one side.

"You wanna talk about it?” She makes her way to his side, limping a bit after rushing through the halls after him.

Murphy breaths out an incredulous, half-choked laugh, looking at her out of the sides of his eyes. “Uh,” he says breathily, “not really.”

“Hmm,” Raven says, lowering herself down to the ground and leaning against the cool glass. “Too bad.”

Murphy slides down beside her, still the only one less graceful than Raven with her brace, and runs his hands through his hair again. Raven reaches up and catches his wrist, and Murphy meets her gaze. “You’ll think I’m going crazy,” he says, voice quiet. “Fuck. I  _am_ going crazy.”

“Try me,” Raven replies, and Murphy’s eyes meet hers again.

“Why do I feel like you know more about this than I’ve said?”

Raven shrugs, because even now when she’s so sure he’s seeing the same thing she is, she doesn’t want to risk saying the words aloud and being condemned as crazy.

“Shit, Reyes.” Murphy’s voice is pained. “I’m…”

“Seeing things?” She wasn’t going to say anything, but the words bubble up and she can’t contain them. She  _needs_ to be right about this. What are the odds of two people seeing the exact same thing? What are the odds of two people losing their minds in the exact same way?

“ _Yeah_ ,” he exhales. “yeah, seeing things. One thing.”

“Who are you seeing, Murphy?” Raven leans toward him, entirely serious in a way she rarely is around him.

Murphy tears his gaze away from hers, pulling one leg up to his chest. “Clarke,” he mutters, so lowly that Raven has to strain her ears to hear him. “I’m… fuck, Raven, I keep seeing  _Clarke_.”

* * *

It’s not easy to confess that she’s been seeing Clarke for over half a year. Murphy is disbelieving at first, then relieved, then angry. Relieved because he’s not alone, angry because she didn’t tell anyone.

“What the fuck would I have said, Murphy?” Raven lets her head thump onto the glass, looking up at the ceiling. “Hi, I’m the one you trust to keep this shitty ship floating in the sky and I’m also seeing my dead friend’s ghost.”

Murphy flinches. “Ghost,” he repeats.

“Or something,” Raven says firmly, sharply, because  _damn_ she does not want to go there. There’s this stupid niggling hope that’s been silently dwelling in the back of her mind for fourteen months now, and she doesn’t want to rip off the bandage quite so soon.

Murphy huffs out something that might be a laugh. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, and Raven grins lopsidedly.

“Yeah.” She reaches out blindly, grabs his hand and squeezes. This is new, for them, but she needs something to anchor them, needs something to remind herself that this is real. Together they sit, backs to a dying planet, and listen to each other breathe.

“I suppose—” Murphy’s voice breaks the silence. “You have some kind of theory about this?”

“The more I think about her, the more real she gets,” Raven mumbles. “The more I think about her, the longer she stays.” She sighs, exhausted despite herself. “Fourteen months and that’s all I’ve got.”

* * *

They never see her together, which is strange but not the strangest part of everything, so they aren’t too concerned. They talk about her, though, not often but frequently enough that they confirm they’re both seeing the same Clarke, that their experiences with her shade are pretty much the same.

Sometimes Murphy will walk into the lab and drape his arms over Emori, and Raven will meet his eyes and just  _know_ that he’s seen her. Sometimes Raven will be whispering half-formed thoughts aloud, and Murphy will pause what he’s doing and send her a look of understanding and something else. (Sympathy? Empathy? Raven doesn’t want to dwell on it.) It’s strange, to have someone else in on her secret of fourteen long, lonely, isolated months. She can’t help but wonder what it means.

(She doesn’t let herself wonder if Clarke is really alive, hasn’t ever let herself ruminate on that because the grief and the mystery would swallow her whole and bury her alive. But now, now that Murphy sees the same thing she does, it’s a harder thought to swallow down. What are the odds?) 

* * *

“Obviously I don’t want to be going crazy,” Raven says one day, when Clarke’s humming has been fluttering in and out of her ears all day.

Murphy raises an eyebrow, waits for her to continue.

“It’s just.” Raven pauses, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tries to express what she’s feeling without disproving her point. The episode of  _Friends_ continues to play but neither of them are paying attention anymore. “I don’t… want to stop seeing her, either. Y’know?”

Murphy doesn’t say anything in reply, and clearly Raven’s missing out on too much sleep because for once the silence makes her uncertain, and she rushes to keep talking. “I don’t know, Murphy, I guess I miss her having her around.” She shrugs, hating that she feels compelled to explain herself to anyone, let alone  _John Murphy_. “Like, Emori is great, and Echo is cool now, and Harper is the best and Monty is a godsend, but.” She licks her dry lips. “I wasn’t close with any of them on the earth.”

“Uh, duh,” Murphy interrupts dryly. “Echo would have slit your throat.”

“Thanks, genius,” Raven snaps. “I had no idea.” She huffs, and maybe she should leave it at that but now that she’s started it’s like the words are just slipping out her unbidden. Murphy’s frown is something she might call concerned. “And I knew Bellamy and I’ll always know him, but he’s not exactly been a pillar of stability lately.”

“Hey,” says Murphy, and he sounds serious enough that Raven almost feels tempted to look at him. “We all miss Clarke. I get it.” Raven chews her lips, focusing on the way that Phoebe’s blonde hair is too straight to be mistaken for Clarke’s. “But, Raven…” He pauses, and Raven finally risks looking at him after he uses her first name. “Look.” He sighs. “You shouldn’t hold onto something if it’s going to hurt you.”

Raven looks away from him again, spite crawling up her throat and sparking behind her throat. He probably means Finn, which is a dick move all around.

“Reyes, obviously I’m not that concerned if you’re going crazy.” This catches her attention again, but she doesn’t look back at him and out of the very edge of her peripheral vision she can see that he’s fixated on the screen too. “I see her too. I’m just saying that it’s not, like, totally healthy, okay? To be, like,  _wanting_ to see her and shit. This up here is our life now, and Clarke’s… not a part of it.” He cringes and looks away from her sharply. “I’m saying this all wrong.”

Raven shrugs. “Yeah, well, I get it, mostly.”

Murphy sighs, but it’s fonder than it was a minute ago. He throws his hands up in exasperation, settling an arm casually on the sofa behind them. “It’s not healthy to hold on to the past, or something, fuck. I don’t know, Reyes, shit.”

Raven wants to be annoyed with him, for the thing about Finn or for the way he seems to suddenly think he gets a say in how she feels or what she does, but there’s a smile pulling at the corners of her lips. “Thanks,” she says sarcastically.

“Yeah, whatever,” Murphy replies, rolling his eyes. “Jesus. See if I say something when you start talking to our cutlery, huh?” There’s a laugh bursting out of her chest then, and she knows it’ll draw in someone else if she’s so loud, laughter is precious up here, but she’s cackling, and Murphy’s eyes are crinkly as he stares at her in fond exasperation.  

(And Clarke’s not there, but in hindsight Raven isn’t sure. She can feel Clarke’s presence, sometimes, from deep within her chest, but not just in the dark times. That’s probably what grief is supposed to feel like. What she’s gotten is that and something else altogether.)

* * *

It’s three years before Clarke talks back. Murphy comes stumbling into Raven’s room with wide eyes and a pale face, taking her back to the last time he looked like this, almost two years ago.

“Raven,” he says, choked and breathless. “Raven, Raven—”

“Woah,” says Raven, steadying his shoulders and trying to fight back the concern she’s feeling. “What’s wrong? Is it the ship? is it Bellamy, one of the others?”

“No, no—”

“What, did Emori finally get sick of your shit? Because I warned you, Murphy—”

“Raven,” Murphy nearly yells, “she  _talked_.”

Raven falters, dropping her hands from his shoulders as though burned. “What?”

“I  _heard her_.” Murphy runs a single hand over his face, takes a deep breath, then does it again with both hands.

Raven would ask if he’s sure, would tell him he’s losing his mind, but. They’re past that, by now. If they’re crazy, they’re already past saving. “What did she say?”

Murphy’s eyes peek out from behind his hands, and he stumbles over to her bed and collapses down onto the edge. His voice is faint when he speaks next. “ _What the fuck did you do to your hair, Murphy.”_

* * *

"This sounds kinda bad," Murphy begins by saying, "but I'm glad Bellamy can't see her."

Raven nods from where she's reading over the statistics shining on the screen before her. "I get that."

"Like," Murphy sighs. "He's just getting better, now." And it's true; Bellamy is starting to ease up, starting to claim more responsibilities that aren't just him frantically mothering the rest of them. He's smiling more. He talks a lot with Echo, and their eyes are both lighter when they do. He laughs with Emori, hugs Harper every day and ruffles Monty's hair. He's even started to open up more with Raven, to lose some of the grief and guardedness in his eyes. 

"If he could see her," Raven agrees, "he'd never move on. He'd never be okay."

"Yeah." Murphy pauses. "I understand more why you didn't tell anyone."

"Because they'd think I was crazy, yeah, we've been over this."

"Reyes." Murphy's voice is flat. "If you think anyone on this ship wouldn't jump on even the slightest chance that Clarke may have survived, you’re only fooling yourself.”

* * *

The first day they see her together is also the first day that Raven lets herself cry in front of someone else on the ring. It’s been a long, hard day. It’s been a long, hard three years. Her leg is  _screaming_ and she’s starting to realise exactly how hard it’s going to be for them to get back down to earth. At this point she isn’t sure if they even will, can’t think of any way how. Monty and Harper have been fighting all day, snapping at each other and wearing everyone down, and Emori has been absolutely no help in the lab because someone had said something to distract her, and half of the shitty algae somehow managed to die out in a _controlled environment_ so now their shitty portions are even smaller than usual. Her leg is burning, and she’s frustrated from Emori’s alternating questions and unresponsiveness, and she wishes Echo didn’t always jump to conclusions in times of stress and she wishes Bellamy didn’t always look to her for answers and instead started providing some himself. 

Then Murphy’s asking her if she’s okay and she can’t manage to scrounge up any anger, any spite. “Fuck off, Murphy,” she tries to yell, but it doesn’t sound even a little bit waspish, just cracked and lonely. The Murphy of just a couple years ago would have done just that, but this one visibly steels himself and shakes his head.

Raven cries and he lets her, and he doesn’t say anything to her which she’s able to appreciate through a veil of tears and the ache in her leg. She leans her head on his shoulder, sitting together on her bed with their feet touching the cool metal floor. Raven thinks:  _I wish Clarke was here_. She isn’t even sure if she means real-Clarke or other-Clarke.

The thought is faint and fleeting but it’s there, and then- she is. 

Clarke’s materialised on the other side of Raven, her eyes sad. Raven sniffs, her sobs already drying out, exhausted beyond words. Raven doesn’t say anything to acknowledge her, just slumps tonelessly against Murphy’s side, her eyes filling with tears that she’s too tired to acknowledge, not so much out of grief but more simply from the draining day. It takes her a minute to notice that Murphy’s gone stiff.

She looks up from his shoulder, angling her head to see his face, and his eyes are fixated on the spot where Clarke sits. “Wait,” Raven whispers, so quietly that she can’t even hear it. Louder, she says, “You can see her too?”

Murphy looks down at her, eyes even wider, and nods slightly. “Oh my god,” Raven whispers, pushing herself upright, brushing at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Right there, right?”

Murphy nods again, managing to send her a tiny eye roll, but Raven’s sitting taller than she has all day. “Hi, Clarke.” she whispers.

“Hi, Raven,” Clarke replies. Murphy goes even stiffer, his mouth slightly open, but Raven’s focused on the blonde sitting before her on the bed. Clarke’s got her knees folded underneath herself, hair completely open for once and falling around her face in loose waves. “Hi, Murphy,” Clarke adds after a moment, and Murphy lets out a breath as the tension leaves his body in amazement. His expression is soft and unguarded in a way it rarely is, a gentleness he saves for Emori, and more recently Raven, and now Clarke. “I haven’t seen you two together before,” Clarke continues. “I hope you’re both okay.” She bites her lip, her hands twitching from where they lie on her thighs, as though she wants to reach out and touch them.

“Huh,” Murphy breathes out. “Hey, princess.”

“Don’t call her that,” Raven says faintly, not entirely sure why she does, and Clarke’s mouth curves up into a little smile, sad but still a smile.

Clarke leans forward, taking them both in with her eyes, as intense as she always was. “Be safe up there,” she tells them, voice strong and the direction clear. “You’ve come so far. Protect each other.”

Her image wavers and blinks and then she’s gone, leaving Raven and Murphy staring at the spot on the bed that she’s left empty.

* * *

That changes things. 

* * *

They’re sitting at the table listening to Monty’s biweekly algae announcement, and Clarke strolls along the opposite edge of the room. Catching sight of them, Clarke’s face does this weird thing it often does, tightening and brightening at once, and she waves her hand in an easy wave. Murphy’s hand moves as though to wave back, but Raven’s hand darts out to encircle his wrist before he can. He looks at her in confusion, back to their hands, and then understanding dawns in a wince. He settles for sticking out his tongue.

“Ugh, Murphy,” Monty snaps, irritation exhaustedly half-hearted. “Can’t you just grow up? I know you don’t like algae, and I’ll remind you  _again_ that  _none of us do_ , but it’s all we have.” Clarke, though, is grinning delightedly.

* * *

They can talk to her, together, without raising suspicion since it’s two of them and not just one. The conversations are never very long, and they never talk about too much, since Clarke isn’t usually there for all that long. Looking back on them they always sound a little cryptic.

“I miss you,” Clarke whispers one day, and Murphy’s expression goes soft. Raven looks away so that she doesn’t have to look at Clarke’s face—it’s always at least a little bit sad. She isn’t sure if it’s their memory remembering her as sad, or if Clarke’s spirit is just always sad, or whatever.

“We’re right here, Griffin,” Murphy tells her.

“Not really,” Clarke mumbles. Raven frowns, turning her attention back to Clarke, and exchanging a look with Murphy. Before either of them can reply to that, Clarke shakes her head and looks to the side, as though she’s heard something. She gets up from her position, rubs her eyes, and slips out of the room.

* * *

They talk more about theories, too. Neither of them wants to express their deepest hopes, but it’s not as if there’s any scientific explanation for this- whatever _this_ is- either. Collective hallucinations which can talk back? There’s no book on how to deal with that, no guide.

“Monty and Harper are still sickeningly in love,” Murphy is saying, rolling his eyes. Raven grins, leaning down and stretching her leg.

“So are Murphy and Emori,” she adds, and Clarke beams.

“Oh, Murphy,” she says, “I’m happy for you!” Her voice is quieter, these days. It’s almost as if she’s the one who doesn’t want to be overheard. “I always liked Emori. I hope she’s doing okay up there.” 

“Oh, she is,” Murphy assures her. “But how are you?” This crosses a line, this makes assumptions. Raven sends Murphy a glance.

Clarke shrugs. “You know,” she answers.

“Uh, no we don’t,” Raven replies, but Clarke shakes her head.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she mumbles, and Murphy frowns in confusion.

Before they can reply to that, Clarke jumps up and exists the room hurriedly. It’s one of countless conversations that end similarly, with Clarke choosing to leave without any further explanation.

It worries both Raven and Murphy, though they don’t talk too much about it. First Clarke stops answering questions, then her voice grows quieter, then her attention is always somewhere else. She shows up less, seeming less present even when she is there, and when she is present she speaks less and less.

It starts to feel more like a haunting, in a way. The others are getting better, getting kinder and more comfortable. Echo has learned to laugh, and she sits for hours with Emori or Murphy. Bellamy and Monty are closer than they ever have been before, and Harper loses the weight on her shoulders.

Clarke still weighs on all their minds, Raven knows that. They would never forget her. But their lives up here are a gift, not a burden, and they’re finally starting to learn how to accept it.

* * *

“Maybe we’re moving on,” Murphy suggests, but his voice doesn’t express confidence.

“Or maybe Clarke is,” Raven mutters.

Murphy shakes his head. “I don’t know that’s it, either.”

He groans. “It’s like there’s something we’re missing,” he continues. “Something we just can’t quite see.”

* * *

The thing is, Clarke doesn’t seem upset. She doesn’t seem unhappy or desperate or miserable. Everything she’s doing, though, suggests otherwise—the withdrawal, the silent responses, the distraction. But when she speaks, her voice is confident and clear, and her eyes are lighter than they ever were before Praimfaya. Things for her seem better than they have been. Raven can’t find any reason to fault her for that.

And things are better on the ring too. A lot better. They're making the transition from reluctant allies to genuine friends, three years after blasting off into the stars. Daily life doesn't feel so lonely anymore. Their companions don't feel so unknown, their friendships so fragile. 

Echo has adjusted almost completely to life in space, eager to help Monty in the farm, and her and Emori only fight over stupid things. Bellamy has stopped eyeing her unhappily and now snorts at her jokes and watches bad movies with her. Monty and Harper are mellowing out, the aggression and jagged edges smoothing and fading over time, their smiles quicker to appear and their humour less pointed. They're relearning how to be kind and gentle and soft, and Raven is so proud of how hard they fought to be where they are now. Emori and Murphy don’t stand so close together, anymore, but not for lack of closeness—simply because they no longer fear the people around them. Emori is one of the most tactile people on board, and she's more open with her feelings than anyone else, jumping into companionship with a bravery that Raven admires. Murphy smiles more often, still snarky and sharp but no longer so serrated. He gets along with the others, he _likes_ them. Bellamy’s eyes aren’t so shadowed, and he laughs more often, and he slowly starts to fill the role of leader again. 

Raven feels her loneliness truly ebb away, as the isolation from the first year on the ring is erased with the camaraderie they’re all starting to ease into. Movie night with Echo is at least twice a week, and Harper braids her hair when she’s bored, and Bellamy teaches them about the constellations while Murphy teases him about being such a “fucking nerd” without any bite to his tone. Sparring stops being tense, dinner never stops being awful but starts being filled with conversation, and Echo moves into Raven and Bellamy’s room with a wink and a friendly squeeze to Raven's shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Raven promises. Murphy leans his elbow on her shoulder and winks at Clarke, who smiles back. Clarke’s skin isn’t chapped or burnt anymore, it’s got a healthy glow that’s absent from the ring. Her eyes are bright and her hair is loose and blowing lazily around her face. They’re got movie night tonight, and they can hear Bellamy and Harper laughing down the hall. “We're happy, and we’ll be back soon.”

“You better be,” Clarke responds, and that’s the last thing she says for a long time.

  

**Author's Note:**

> pls review friends :)
> 
> (this all made a lot more sense in my head, so if it made zero sense in actuality,, i am sorry,, i do have an actual explanation i promise)
> 
> EDIT: thank u so much to all those who asked for part 2!!!!! however!!! i do not know what to write!!! soooo would you like to see: a) someone else on the ring starts to see ya girl clarke or raven/murphy have to reveal that they see her, OR b) a funky lil reuinion on earth not following canon, OR c) a reunion on earth that follows canon. please let me know what you think ily all :))


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